Never Enough
by A.L.Killer
Summary: In which both Yuri and Victor got their L-words from Yuuri, but one of them took more than the other.
1. Chapter 1

**[A/N]**

This is by far the most depressing thing I've ever written, so apologies in advance.

Also, take note that this fic is not what it looks like, stick with me to the very end to see.

* * *

He was in love with Yuuri Katsuki.

It took him an impressive amount of time til he reached that devastating conclusion, but Yuri Plisetsky knew there was no going back from it, not when the fact had itself known, not when reality chased him brutally until he couldn't escape its clutches any longer, not when its ropes were wrapped around his neck and its shackles were clasped shut on each limb, bruising his skin, keeping him in place and suffocating the air out of his lungs.

His cocksure and stubborn younger self was strong enough to delay the realization, by focusing instead on the series of unbalanced voices that were consuming his mind deafeningly, coating the reality with a layer of melody to keep him mentally stable.

God, he missed them, missed those loud sounds that were sometimes infinite in pitch, they were beautifully distracting, helpful, _protective_. He was never able to define them; the wavelengths that were sourced from a different medium couldn't possibly be translated into words.

They were perhaps tunes, hisses, or screams, fueling him with anger and denial, convincing him that was happening wasn't actually happening.

But all musical pieces must come to an end, and the last echo of sound, the vanishing of the foggy melody, and the new horrifying clarity of what had remained, marked the beginning of Yuri's misery.

 _He was in love with Yuuri Katsuki._

* * *

 **On his twenty first birthday, Yuri was going to end it.**

To put it frankly, Yuri might've been able to bullshit people left and right like it was his second nature, but he couldn't bullshit himself.

He tried, though, he really did, no one can deny that.

Not that anyone was aware of it, not with how _disgusting_ and pathetic it was.

Only one person in the entire world knew, and Yuri was planning to keep it that way.

He was taking that secret with him to the grave, even if it meant going there sooner than planned.

* * *

 **At age fourteen, Yuri was bitter.**

To be fair, lots of teenagers were, but Yuri, just like he did with everything else, had to take it to the extreme, to its very peak until it was unbearable for him and everyone around him.

People called it aggressive behavior, but Yuri called it sheer confusion, a reaction to unfamiliar feelings that no one warned him of or taught him how to deal with.

"And then there's the one from Japan- hey, _Victor_!" he heard Mila shouting one day. "Goddamnit, for once, pay attention to what I'm telling you!"

"Yeah, I'm following," Victor lied, his eyes glued on his phone in the same way the smile rested on his face, empty, shallow, and just there for the hell of it. That pretty much explained the dynamic of him recently, Yuri decided. "There's of course Chris, and that guy Altin, and uh... Jean Jacues Rosseau, go on."

Georgi snorted at that.

"It's Leroy, Jean Jacues _Leroy_ , you ass!" Mila snapped. "How could you not know the names of the people you're competing with?!"

With his guards fixed on his skates, Yuri decided to join them on the benches, bottle of water in hand, and all set and ready for today's pile of bullshit. "I think we should all be surprised by how he miraculously referenced a philosopher just know, I'm strangely impressed."

"You discover wonders every day." Georgi added with a smirk.

"Very funny." Victor flashed them a bigger smile, but nope, no glint, no meaning, just a hollow reflex. "Go on, Mila."

"You got it, right? Jean Jacues-"

"Too long... too long... skip to the next one-"

"Look here, asshole, he's my current skater crush and it's your _duty_ to know his name."

"You have too many of those." Victor commented.

" _Yes_ ," Yuri agreed with passion, "If your body can't keep tabs on your hormones, how can we?"

"Shut up there, midget."

"Fuck off, hag!"

"I'm pretty sure JJ has a girlfriend-"

"Georgi, don't fucking ruin it!"

Victor just chuckled at them, dryly as the sand grains on a hot summer day.

God, it pissed Yuri off.

"Quit slacking off!" they flinched at Yakov's sudden, but usual wrath, echoing throughout the practice area at whoever was unlucky enough to be in the coach's range. "And how many times should I remind you twats not to swear in the rink?!"

He knew all three of them wanted to do it, desperately, but they were not ready to face the consequences, so Yuri took one for the team.

He flashed Yakov a pretty middle finger behind his back, and fortunately got away with it.

"Yes, just like that." Mila smiled in content.

"Thank you." Georgi sighed.

Victor patted him on the back.

" _As I was saying_ ," Mila breathed heavily, trying to regain her train of thoughts. "There's also that skater from Japan who's known for his step sequence, Yuuri Katsuki."

"Now that one's easy to memorize," Victor flung his arm around Yuri's shoulder, smirking his way. "Maybe we'll have two Yuri's competing against each other next season, how exciting!"

 _You sure don't look excited for shit_ , Yuri thought, immediately seeing past Victor's sorry ass of a facade, because Jesus Christ, it was getting pretty bad.

Yuri was aware of Victor's lack of inspiration lately, but the man was literally starting to look dead on the inside.

He knew that he had to get on that at some point; Yuri couldn't afford Victor half-assing during his senior debut next year, not when he was the one to choreograph the upcoming program himself.

They still didn't discuss it, but Yuri had time, and honestly, he wasn't in the right mind, nor did he have the patience to deal with Victor's incompetence and fuckery; he can find a solution for his muse dilemma himself as long as Yuri's program was in the making.

"Alright, I got it." Victor beamed, "On to the next one!"

"Oh, yeah?" Mila raised an eyebrow, completely unconvinced. "What's Japanese Yuuri's last name, then?"

"You underestimate me, Mila," Victor flipped his hair confidently; "It was obviously Atsushi."

" _Goddamnit, Victor!_ " Mila yelled, frustrated. "Why are you like this?!"

"But Milaaaa, those Asian names are haaaard-"

 _Two Yuri's_ , Yuri thought for a second, a swirl of anger consuming him all of a sudden, his teeth grinding at the idea. _Not on the same ice there ain't._

That night, Yuri spent the entire time, while he should have been fast asleep like he was instructed to, stalking the shit out of that Japanese bastard.

There was nothing to worry about as far as the information his profile and accomplishments provided. Yuri didn't detect anything that would hint at a dangerous level of competition, but something was very unsettling.

And Yuri didn't like that feeling.

Mila was on a competitive league and wouldn't mention something about other skaters if it wasn't truly important, well, beside how hot and pretty they were.

He also knew quite well that some skaters would get ticked all of a sudden and rise to the top unpredictably.

Why would he care though? They just had the same name.

Yet, the whole thing was still unsettling.

* * *

 **A week later, Yuri was intrigued.**

He found himself watching Katsuki's performance more intently than he did Victor's, and that strange feeling only got worse by the second.

He was overcome with disappointment at first, groaning in contempt as he watched that bastard flub almost all of his jumps, the overwhelming pressure crushing him flat on the ice.

Fuck, he couldn't believe that his all-nighter of stalking lead to this, he even learned everything about the guy's _private life_ too while he was at it, for fuck sake.

He wanted to see him in his best form. He wanted to see how he'd do without mistakes. He wanted to see what he was going to face soon, but everything he had asked for was denied, perhaps harshly, too.

Yuri didn't like surprises, and he certainly didn't like not knowing what to expect.

After all, he was scouting for competition.

But Yuri wasn't stupid; that step sequence he witnessed was easily the best he'd seen so far, one that could outmatch even Victor's.

The expression on the man's face, however, itched Yuri in a really bad way.

Somehow, it eerily resembled his own reflection on the mirrors around him after a failed attempt at acing something, while fully knowing that he could get it perfectly done under different circumstances.

Admittedly, the bastard didn't look anything like his profile picture on the official website; Yuri had expected no grace or significance as far as looks went, but he was met with a representation that wasn't entirely bad. Slicking back his hair and ditching the glasses were a good call, because the transition must've been exotic for the audience; Yuri knew that, he also knew what Mila would be talking about the next time the guy was mentioned.

Yuri, for the first time, was criticizing Victor for something that was actually related to skating; Victor never paid attention to the competition around him, barely knew and recognized other skaters he was competing with, and Yuri was sure that it would come back to bite him in the ass one day.

Because Yuuri Katsuki faced the audience in shame, his brown eyes filled with regret, and Yuri deciphered the exact words he wanted to shout at them.

 _'You didn't see it.'_

 _'You didn't see what I can actually do.'_

* * *

 **In the bathroom, Yuri was angry.**

Not twenty minutes ago, he had seen himself in that man; he had been excited, he had been curious to know what he was like.

And that crying pathetic piece of shit in front of him was not the man he saw.

His chest was heaving thunderously when he exited, feeling completely satisfied and content after yelling out every single phrase that could demolish the Japanese bastard to fragments, and god, it felt so good.

Now, if they had anything in common, Katsuki will have to rise up and try to prove him wrong.

And Yuri couldn't wait.

* * *

 **An hour later, Yuri was empathetic.**

" _Man_ , that fan sure looked devastated seeing me," Victor murmured sadly in the sidelines amidst a life lecture Yakov was thrusting Yuri's way with no mercy. "I bet he was shocked by how old I look."

Yuri rolled his eyes, both at his coach's outburst and Victor's unnecessary love for his fans. On the other hand, he was a bit grateful of the fact that one of them didn't jump up at the first chance to grab Victor's attention, fuss over him and literally have seizures like morons right then and there.

He was also glad to see Victor showing some genuine emotions for a change; his sulkiness actually made the man look _real_ for a moment there.

Yuri glanced at the entrance to see the fan in question and solute him, just to add salt to Victor's wound, only to see _Katsuki_ there with his back to them, out of all people, and again, Yuri knew exactly what he was going through.

 _Victor, you cruel bastard._

* * *

 **Later that night, Yuri was challenged.**

"Keep drinking, asshole," Yuri taunted, trying his hardest to provoke Katsuki, to bring out something in him that he didn't understand, not the nature of it, nor the reason he wanted it to be unleashed so bad. "Go ahead, drown in your sorrows!"

Katsuki slammed the bottom of his glass on the table, and suddenly, Yuri felt the air shifting around him, the equally distributed noises of the hall impossibly narrowing as the man loosened his tie and took off his glasses.

Katsuki turned slowly, his face completely blank, and Yuri was lying if he said he wasn't disappointed, because the bastard obviously looked like he didn't give a single shit, polar opposite to the reaction he received in the bathroom.

He was in front of the boy within a few seconds, looking down at him with a half smile, "At least I'm old enough to do that."

Victor chuckled behind them, and Yuri didn't have enough energy to dwell on how it didn't sound as empty, but instead chose to glare at the man in front of him as hard as he can.

The noise drew Katsuki's attention to the ice skating legend, his eyes immediately sparkling with interest and awe.

It pissed him off so, _so_ much.

 _Don't do it, idiot._ Yuri thought angrily, his glare intensifying. _Remember how he just gave you the greatest diss as a figure skating finalist a few hours ago?_

Katsuki's gaze instantly redirected at Yuri, his whole attention shifting to him and a smirk forming on his lips, as if he heard his exact thoughts and _understood_. "I can destroy you, you know."

" _Ha?!_ " Yuri's mouth twisted into an ugly snarl. "I wanna see you try, fucker. I'll wipe the floor with your face-"

"Let's go, then." The bastard, for some bizarre reason, started taking off his suit jacket sluggishly and – _oh, hell no!_

"No, no, _no_ , fuck off!" Yuri struggled against the surprisingly strong hold, because Katsuki was grabbing his hand and leading him toward the dance floor all of a sudden. "Don't even _think_ about it! I won't do it! Not in a banquet! I meant the Grand Prix-"

Katsuki was the one to glare at him this time. The mere mention of the event seemed triggering, and Yuri gulped, knowing all too well that he had struck a nerve.

Fully aware that the man should be shitfaced by now, Yuri still didn't understand where all that grace was coming from.

Because Katsuki let go, as if Yuri wasn't worth it anymore, and literally fucking threw his jacket at _Victor_.

"Shame." Yuuri smiled, still not breaking eye contact and not sparing Victor even a glance as he walked backwards, every word daring. "So you were just bark and no bite after all."

When he was a fair distance away, Yuri turned in absolute confusion toward Victor, ready to start talking shit. "What the fuck?"

Only, he was met with a strange sight: a grinning Victor. _What the fuck?!_ "What should I do with this?" he chuckled, holding the jacket with uncertainty. "I didn't know he was a skater, god, I feel like shit."

"Be prepared to feel worse," Yuri snorted, pointing a thumb at the dance floor. "He's about to make a fucking fool out of himself. Look, he already crashed into three people – where the hell is my camera?"

He was about to call Mila so she could join in on the fun too when suddenly, the music changed into something entirely different, making Yuri release another loud _what the fuck?_ in the air.

Apparently, that idiot was attracting attention all over the place, and soon the entire density of the hall was focused on that figure in the center, dancing so out of beat it was sad.

It was somehow amusing, at least, because there were smiles and laughter spreading around him like poison. The DJ, who was obviously bored out of his mind, thought it would be funny to play a loud, upbeat _hip hop_ song out of fucking nowhere, immediately spreading energy around the party that was full of class and etiquette just a few minutes ago.

 _Shit._ Even the DJ was an evil son of a bitch, Yuri realized, did he not have enough with the guy embarrassing himself with a classic song? Now he wanted him to go _all out_ , too?

He, for some bizarre reason, was starting to feel sorry, and not having the heart to keep looking at the dance floor for one more second, Yuri glanced away.

The whole shitshow dragged itself longer than necessary, and Yuri had half a mind to go and drag him out of there by force, maybe try and savor whatever dignity Katsuki had left, but he wasn't entitled to do that, nope, fuck no, it would've been too embarrassing to be associated with the guy at the current time and place.

He heard a gasp, followed by sudden silence and murmurs, and Yuri closed his eyes, knowing that he wouldn't find whatever was happening amusing anymore.

" _Holy shit, Yuri!_ " Victor's blue eyes were blown wide when Yuri turned to him, and watched as the older man fumbled for his phone like his life depended on it. "Look at that!"

Yuri did, and he was speechless.

 _What the actual fuck?!_

Katsuki was still dancing like there was no tomorrow, but god, what was happening? He looked around, everyone awed and smiling. Consistent clapping issued next, and Yuri looked again, still speechless.

Where in the fuck's name did this man learn to dance like that?

The shift of music unleashed a _monster_ , because Katsuki became one with the song, and did not miss one single beat without pulling a move harder and more exotic than the next.

Yuri had seen the kids in his school when they formed groups for dance-offs, always attracting everyone's attention around them. He had seen how they fought tooth and nail to beat each other, and well, honestly, it was considered the coolest shit ever for people his age.

Yuuri, though, Yuuri was on another level, because he was _break dancing_ like he was born for it. Jesus Christ, those kids in his school would cry tears of envy if they witnessed this.

Victor and Yuri gaped at him, jaws hanging and continuous snaps sounding from the older man's phone.

Everyone was cheering and rooting for him the longer he went. Yuri even heard whistles and hoots that were becoming too loud, and not long after, Victor was acting like a true embarrassment, waving the guy's jacket with so much pride it was humiliating to even be standing next to him, "He gave it to me!" Victor told whoever was nearby, pointing at Katsuki then himself, "He gave his jacket to me!" and that shit was the _final straw._

" _You bastard!_ " Yuri shouted, literally pushing people away and running toward the center of the hall.

* * *

 **By the end of the song, Yuri got a taste of his own medicine.**

He tried.

He really did.

However, people were laughing their asses off, Victor and Mila looked like they were having the time of their lives, and _Yuuri motherfucking Katsuki_ was patting him on the head in sympathy.

"It's alright." He laughed, his hand gentle and fingers running through Yuri's blond hair. "You weren't that bad."

"Shut the fuck up!" Yuri snapped, because goddamnit, he was lying through his teeth.

People were laughing at _him_ , not Katsuki, _he_ made a fool out of himself, _he_ lost to that bastard by a long shot, who apparently, was some sort of break dancing legend because those moves he busted were _not_ coincidental.

"Yuuri!" he heard Victor's voice amidst the loud cheers, annoyingly cheerful and vibrant. "That was amazing!"

Yuri turned abruptly, ready to give that inconsiderate fucker a piece of his mind because he was obviously mocking him, until he realized that Victor was actually addressing the other Yuuri.

Katsuki though, that evil little shit, knew _exactly_ what he was doing, because he chose to not even acknowledge it.

From Victor's vintage point, he was completely ignored and perhaps wasn't heard, but Yuri didn't miss that sly smile on Katsuki's lips, and he couldn't deny that he was impressed by how the tables were turned.

Victor deserved it, anyway, so Yuri didn't mind.

Nor did he mind that Yuuri's fingers were still in his hair.

* * *

 **Later on, Yuri was being wicked.**

He was exhausted after the dance-off, to say the least, the adrenaline leaving his body and all energy vanishing from his system, so he found himself a seat and decided to record whatever the hell was happening; he was humiliated fresh, yet he wasn't going to give up, he had to be there and see other people hitting rock bottom too so he could blackmail whoever had evidence of his... mishap.

Yuuri, though, Yuuri was _still at it_.

He thought Katsuki was bluffing when he agreed on _another_ dance-off, with _Christophe_ nonetheless, and on a goddamn _pole_ , the Swiss man's very own territory.

 _That bitch is crazy_. Yuri decided, capturing every moment of it with insistence.

And Jesus H. Christ, the man actually kept up.

There were some positions that looked physically impossible to pull off, yet, there he was, only in his briefs, fisting the pole with two hands, his entire body aligned in a horizontal line, with Chris _casually_ lying on his back with all of his weight.

How?

Just.

How?

Every female in sight was squeaking, no shit.

That guy managed to become the life of the party in the matter of an hour, leaving no one's wildest expectations and brains unfucked.

But Yuri knew exactly what was going on.

He knew exactly why he was holding Chris in such intimacy and dominance; he knew exactly whom those seductive moves were directed at.

And Yuri didn't know what to do with that information.

Especially with how fucking oblivious Victor was to it.

Because, well, the man was too busy taking pictures and blushing like a goddamn teenager, gasping every now and then, and pouting each time he pitifully called Katsuki's name just so he could receive no response.

Yuri felt an odd sense of satisfaction coursing through him, enthralling and new, courtesy of the fact that Katsuki was actively ignoring Victor throughout the whole thing and posing only for Yuri's camera.

His innocence was disheveled, to say the least.

Yet, Yuri enjoyed every fucking second of it, because _he knew what was going on_ , they were, in an unspoken way, teaming up to bring Victor down on his knees.

Katsuki probably wanted vengeance, and Yuri just took pleasure in getting under Victor's skin, because god, he was so fucking sick of him lately, so it was a win-win situation.

And it was working so beautifully.

"Ugh!" Victor exclaimed, making his way toward him in absolute frustration. "Yuri! Send me all the pictures you're taking!"

Yuri was laughing devilishly.

Fuck, it excited him. Only if he was able forget the shame of his dance-off, he could honestly consider this the best banquet he had ever been to.

* * *

 **At the closure of the party, Yuri felt used.**

There were some things he didn't expect, but as it was established before, Katsuki and expectations were proportional.

He didn't expect him to have _enough_ energy left to detach from the pole, put his clothes on, and dive in head first into the dance floor again.

The man looked like he wanted to dance specifically to that one classic song playing, and soon enough, he was showing off perfect skill in ballroom _and_ interpretive dancing because well, _why the fuck not_? Yuri didn't even bother to ask or even be surprised anymore.

Victor, the poor asshole, was reaching absolute desperation at that point, so he decided to join in on a whim and keep trying.

The Russian man couldn't dance with him at first, even though he was pathetically dying to get closer, because Katsuki – and Yuri took pride in saying that – still had his game on, leaving Victor far away from him on purpose.

It took some time, but eventually, they were in sync. People got the hint and left the floor to give them space because obviously, there was no room for bullshit anymore, those two were on a whole different league and everyone else had to take their half assed dancing elsewhere.

But Yuri didn't expect him... to actually turn around and start dancing with Victor directly.

 _No._ Yuri wanted to shout, feeling a strange streak of emotions. _That's too soon, idiot!_

Their telepathy didn't work this time, though.

He still took pictures for the lack of nothing better to do, and just couldn't stop his eyes from rolling at how beyond happy Victor was becoming with each frame, taking full pride in finally having Yuuri all for himself.

There was that one shot that almost made him barf; the two were amidst an elegant spin, quick with their impatience, but still making it effortless. Yuuri was holding Victor by the leg and cheek, though he knew quite well that the latter had nothing to with balance, as he dipped the taller man down so low that Yuri wondered how he managed to not fall on his ass. Both of them were laughing in sheer glee, eyes closed shut with wrinkles of emotion.

He stopped taking pictures then.

He didn't expect Yuuri to spend the remaining of the night dancing with Victor like there was no one else present.

He didn't expect him to not show any signs of fatigue, not the slightest, his pants disappearing later on for some reason.

He didn't expect to be neglected and ignored the entire time, either.

And most importantly, he didn't expect that the whole thing that was going on between them was just an illusion in Yuri's head.

But if it had happened and he wasn't in fact looking too much into it, then Yuri would've been played the whole night in the most ironic way possible.

 _"If I win the dance off, you'd be my coach, right?"_

Alright, that one really stung.

 _"Be my coach, Victor!"_

Ouch.

He looked at the side, and wasn't even remotely surprised with what he saw.

Victor had fallen.

 **\- To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

**At age fifteen, Yuri was homicidal.**

He knew he always had been, at heart, deep, deep down, but it took a special someone to make Yuri accept that fact with opened arms.

The sound of the buzzer was assaulting his ears, just like how the tip of his index finger did with the bottom of the intercom. Yuri looked like an annoying prick doing that, for sure, but he didn't give a shit, not with how his heartbeat was escalating by the second.

The noise halted, notifying Yuri that the line finally connected, and so, he wasted no time, not caring how loud the next sentence flew out of his mouth. " _Victor, let me in!_ "

There was an immediate click and Yuri took off like a cheetah, pushing the door of the apartment complex open and heading toward the stairs without even considering taking the elevator.

 _Oh god, oh fuck, oh Jesus-_ Yuri was panicking, _this is not happening, not now, not when my senior debut is just around the corner. Oh damn it to hell, should I call Yakov? His neighbors? An ambulance?_

By the time he reached Victor's floor, he had almost given up on the will to live, but nonetheless, he busted his way into Victor's place, his heart in his throat, a million scenarios circulating around his mind, each worse than the one before.

" _Victor!_ " he gasped, not sparing time to regain his breath after a dozen lethal flights of stairs, but instead tried to calm himself down so he could look around the apartment. "Victor! Victor, are you there?! Can you move?!"

"Oh Yuri, that was quick."

His neck snapped toward the source of that calm, shameless, undignifying voice, and Yuri, with every ounce of bitterness and hatred that was coursing through his veins, mustered up the most incredulous glower that his facial muscles were capable of.

Victor whistled. "Someone woke up at the wrong side of the bed today."

Yuri unleashed an ear combusting series of spontaneous, gruesome, and well rehearsed curses, mostly directed at Victor's mother.

"Whoa, whoa, easy there, Mama is a really nice lady-"

He pounced at the man like a predator, the man that was settled on the couch and cradling his godforsaken poodle with the audacity to not look half dead, sprawled on the floor, drowning in a pool of his own blood.

Yuri was on top of both of them in a millisecond, inhumane noises releasing from his throat.

" _Whoa!_ Makkachin, we're under attack!" Victor, ever the selfish bitch, shoved his poodle in between them as a barrier as all three bodies clashed on the floor. "Protect your master!"

Yuri stared at a pair of round, innocent black eyes, and after a moment of awkward eye contact, he grabbed the poodle by the fur in a firm grip, appreciating the fact that he was never a dog person, and threw her to the side.

"Animal abuse!" Victor wailed dramatically.

Yuri grabbed him by the collar and perused his mission to kick and punch the man under him as many times as possible.

"Domestic abuse!"

"You bastard, just wait! I'm gonna shove you back into your mother's vagi-"

"Keep Mama out of this!"

"You piece of fucking-"

"Aw, stop!" Victor was being rather noisy, but not for the reasons Yuri wanted him to be, because the asshole was _giggling_. "Y-Yuri! That tickles!"

"This is not working." Yuri sat on his knees, fist still in the man's collar. "Now, where the hell are your kitchen knives?"

"Come on, you're being irrational right now-"

"Shut the fuck up, alright?!" Yuri shouted; up on his feet and on the way to Victor's kitchen. "God, I never wished to find you dead as much as I do right now!"

Victor was already back to cuddling his dog like nothing had happened. "You're overreacting."

"Fuck you!" Yuri responded from the adjacent room, opening the fridge and taking out a water bottle with shaky hands. "I thought you kicked the bucket, you asshole!"

Victor cooed, nuzzling Makkachin way too retardedly, and Yuri, for a moment, didn't know which one of them was the unintelligible dog. "Oh please, Yuri, I'm not that old."

Yuri snorted. "Your thinning hair says otherwise, I mean, who wouldn't be worried?!"

"That was unnecessarily rude."

"And you're unnecessarily being a constant pain in my ass!" Yuri fumed, gulping down the entire content of the bottle because _god_ , his throat was dry. "You literally sent me an _SOS text_ , saying you're in pain and dying, and even plugged in every single sad emoji known to mankind in there. What are you? Ten?!"

"Ten over ten, surely." Victor did his ridiculous signature move, flipping his hair and smirking, a strategy that didn't work that one time the man needed it most, and made Yuri seriously consider taking out a knife from the drawer next to him. "And besides, who would take care of my dear Makkachin if I died?"

"Fuck you and your-" the dog stared at him right in the eye and Yuri gulped in remorse, quickly rephrasing the next part of his sentence. "Love for that dog!"

"Just so you know, I _am_ , in fact, in deep distress, but not physically." A solemn expression took over Victor's face, and Yuri knew it was different from the ones before. "Though, my chest does hurt sometimes."

"Alright, what is it?" Yuri was instantly alerted, and slightly worried, too. _Was it his muse dilemma again? No, it can't be._

Yuri had been watching him like a hawk lately, and to his satisfaction, Victor had already started putting together a couple of beautiful routines for the upcoming season, each way divergent from the other to be considered one program, and that relieved him in that particular department; he was _sure_ one of those routines were a part of his senior debut program because well, who else needed it but Yuri?

"It's been four months." Victor whined, his voice disgustingly weak. " _Four months_ , Yuri!"

"So tell me," Yuri tossed the bottle in the trashcan next to him, and joined his hands together, like a prayer. He closed his eyes, and took some very deep breaths, trying to keep himself composed as hard as he can. "Are you taking being a PRETENTIOUS FUCK as a hobby now?!" he yelled in volumes too high, his attempts futile, "You made me run all the way here from grandpa's house, on my goddamn day off because, what? You can't calm your dick?! Are you fucking serious?!"

"It's not about my dick." Victor defended halfheartedly. "I mean, come on, you definitely can't help with _that_."

Yuri unleashed his rage on the nearest object to him, and within a blink, the trashcan came flying across the living room, its contents spilling all over the apartment.

"You seriously have anger management issues, kid."

"And whose fault is that?!" Yuri knew that by the end of the day, his voice would be gone from too much excretion on his vocal cords.

"Seriously, I've been thinking about it a lot. Do you think he's okay?" Victor said, as if the words he uttered were the worst of his fears, as if he hasn't been saying the same shit to Yuri all over again for the nth time. "Nothing, Yuri, there's nothing from him lately, it's like he vanished. He just... threw away the season like he wasn't even _trying_ , you saw that, right? What if he's suffering from an injury? An illness? Or _worse_ , what if he's _dead_?!"

The sheer amount of retardation in that one statement was so overwhelming that Yuri ran a hand down his face in disbelief.

 _Of course_ , he thought, not having heard and understood the word 'no' his entire life, Victor actually believed that the only reason someone would toss him away was because they were either ill, or dead. _Fucking astonishing._

What do people see in this man beside his skating? What did _Katsuki_ see in him that night?

The latter was a question that never failed to infuriate him.

"He's alive." Yuri didn't know why he said that, but he did, anyway. "And considering retirement, naturally."

"Retirement?" Victor furrowed his eyebrows and let the smile drop, in an almost intimidating manner. "What do you mean, _naturally_?"

"His performance in the Grand Prix was a disaster, he couldn't shake it off." Yuri shrugged. "Look, he doesn't give a shit about that promise, alright? Japan's figure skating community is already mourning; it's all over the place. " _Do you even research?_ He wanted to scold, but left it at that.

Since there were already a hell a lot of question marks as to why, exactly, Yuri bothered to keep stalking the guy after all this time.

"Nothing is sure until Yuuri releases an official statement," Victor waved him off, still defensive. "You know how rumors like that keep circulating; I have a fair share of those, too."

"He even gained weight; his friend posted a selfie of them a few days ago." Yuri snorted, enjoying how he kept destroying Victor's hopes little by little. "That little pig-"

" _What?!_ " Victor was beyond shocked. "But Yuuri had a perfect body-"

"Exactly, Victor, he did, and how often do you see athletes neglecting their fitness?" Yuri slumped on the couch, already drained by today's events. He didn't even wait for the answer, because both of them smelt the bad aroma of retirement a mile away, and knew.

Victor was uncharacteristically still on the floor, his tone losing its last bit of playfulness. "So you think he wasn't serious?"

"I don't think. I _know_." Yuri grumbled, planting the heel of his combat boot on the side of Victor's head. He didn't care if it was disrespectful; that bastard deserved all the disrespect he could get. "Face it, Nikiforov, we won't see that pig again."

There was a sudden silence stretching its coverage after Yuri finished saying that, and before he knew, a very depressing atmosphere engulfed the air around them, both of their moods turning sour.

Victor rested the back of his head on the couch, his eyes focused on the ceiling, a bit of his old and dull character returning. "I guess this is what they call _mutual_ pining, huh?" He sighed, closing his eyes. "But it's from all the wrong sides."

" _Ha?!_ " Yuri jolted from his seat, kicking Victor with both feet, repeatedly. "Why the fuck are you including me in this?!"

"Ow! _Ow!_ Yuri, not the face, _not the face!_ "

* * *

 **A few days later, Yuri was confused.**

"Oh, Yuri," Victor breathed out, gliding his way to the barrier of the rink where Yuri stood. "You were watching? I thought no one was around."

"Was just about to head home." Yuri shrugged, neglecting to mention how he stumbled into Victor practicing one of the new routines, and was left enchanted and unable to move, against his will. "I saw the last bit."

"Mhm," Victor sipped on the water kit Yuri had handed to him. "So tell me, what do you think?"

Yuri froze, almost turning red. _Was this actually happening?_

Victor, despite being a complete moron, was a genius skater, and being that, the man had sprinkled tiny amounts of pointers and instructions for him throughout Yuri's career, ones that definitely helped him improve since he became a part of the Russian team.

Of course, Victor never asked for Yuri's opinion when it came to his own skating, it was something reserved only for Yakov and a selection of elite skaters Victor trusted. However, Victor he was asking for _his_ opinion now, which only meant one of the following: Victor was acknowledging Yuri's talent and intellect as a senior skater, finally, or...

 _'I will give you the best senior debut.'_

No, this was it, it was definitely happening, this routine, this routine was _Yuri's_.

"I can't judge without seeing the whole thing, but it's different, fresh," Yuri answered the moment he got his head out of his ass, perhaps talking too seriously. "There was a whole a lot of focus on the step sequence, it's demanding, vigorous even, _daring_ you to look away." Yuri knew he needed to work with his step sequence; Victor was the one who always pointed it out, after all. He was no Yuuri Katsuki, but Yuri could definitely do it with proper training. "The suspense is almost fatal, and that flying spin was of high difficulty, too, and that front to back transition, oh god, it was-"

"Wow, wow, Yuri, slow down, boy," Victor waved his hand, as if he was trying to fan his face from the heat. "I'm flattered, but ease up with the fanboying, and answer my question."

"Ha?!" Yuri bristled, incredulous, "I was _not_ fanboying!" okay, maybe he was, just a little. "I can't critique anything else, there were no mistakes."

"Of course there weren't," Victor chuckled, "I didn't ask for a critic, but thanks for the input, anyway."

 _That smug son of a bitch..._

"But did you get the point of the routine? The message I was conveying?" Victor's eyes shined, and Yuri was stiff again. It was perhaps another test, he wasn't sure. "Was I able to tell the story? Was I being clear?"

"What does that have to do with-" Yuri sighed, collecting his thoughts and swallowing his pride. "No, I wasn't paying attention to that."

Who cared about the backgrounds of the routines, anyway? Did it really matter? It was all about presentation points when it came to that, Yuri knew, and was capable of going with it and dominating the junior division thus far.

The tale never helped the routines; skaters weren't actors, they just needed to understand what they were trying to represent and change their expressions with each segment accordingly.

Also, Yuri was still mentally scarred after hearing that Georgi was going to dedicate the entire season to tell the story about his relationship with his basic bitch of a girlfriend.

It was not going to last, it was obvious as the sun, Mila gave it a month, and Yuri bet on two weeks until the theme changed from honeymoon to heartbreak real quick.

Victor sighed in disappointment. "I thought you'd see it better than anyone else."

Yuri beamed, despite the obvious insult. It was _his_ routine after all. "About the step sequ-"

"I thought my emotions were going to come through to the audience crystal clearly," Victor sulked, "But even _you_ can't get it, and you were there, this won't do."

"Uhm, what?" Yuri was beyond confused. "You lost me after _'my emotions'_..."

"The message, Yuri!" Victor was getting frustrated. "I need to get my message across."

Yuri frowned, Victor was sure using 'I' and 'my' way too many times for his liking. _What did that have anything to do with him?_

Victor put a finger on his chin. "Maybe I need to go all out on my sexual appeal, that's it. I'll lay it out flat."

 _Alright, what the fuck?_

"Sexual... appeal?" Yuri looked down at himself, seeing no tools for that. "Uhm..."

"Oh, that's right; you're too young to understand it." Victor laughed, as if he just remembered that Yuri barely turned fifteen and still didn't have a proper crush. "But that'll be too much, I guess, the routine is already very sexual."

Yuri wasn't an idiot, he knew that they were having two entirely different conversations, but he decided to humor him anyway. "Tell you what, I think I saw something. Can you repeat the last bit again, the one before the closing pose?"

Victor blue eyes exploded like fireworks, and he was more than happy to oblige.

Stepping back, the man was instantly taken over by the persona he created, his eyes narrowed as he went for a soft spin, gaining momentum by sliding across the ice, fast enough to pull his body to the side. He threw both arms in one direction, creating a forceful push against the air with a smirk and a touch of boredom, as if he was tossing someone aside. He pulled them back, quick, moving into the next position, relief blossoming on his face as he stepped away as fast as he can. As a finale, his arms wrapped around his shoulders, his leg cocking, and his gaze directing at the opposite direction.

 _Oh, god._

Yuri definitely saw it then.

He scolded himself for being distracted by the technicalities and not noticing what the idiot was trying to do.

Yuri's hand found its way to his forehead, wondering why god had placed him in this part of the universe out of all places. _Not that shit again... not that shit again, please... not that shit again-_

"So let me give you a rough summary," Victor put his hands on his hips, his smile disgusting. "A _certain_ man walks into a party, charms all the guests present before setting his eyes on the hottest bachelor-"

" _Bye!_ " Yuri was already heading toward the exit. "I hope you die a painful death and get dumped by Yuuri Katsuki on loop!"

He was still able to hear Victor muttering to himself, unsurprised by Yuri's outburst. "I guess it's perfect, then."

 _Of course it is_. Yuri's teeth clinched as he pulled his hoodie up. _How couldn't it be?_

It was Victor performing it, and moreover, if it wasn't, how could Yuri relate to it so much?

* * *

 **A few days later, Yuri was being an asshole.**

But it was for Victor's own good.

And more so his, if Yuri was being honest, but hey, it's the thought that counted.

 _"An onsen."_

Yuri's hand stilled, dropping the badge he was playing with and turning to the side, finding Victor annoying-piece-of-shit Nikiforov standing too close to him, his expression awfully determined. "Come again?"

"An onsen, Yuri," Victor drew away, adjusting the collar of his red tracksuit, "It was some sort of a code, I'm sure of it."

"Alright." Yuri instantly gave up, nodding automatically. The man stopped making any sense months ago, anyway.

"Aren't you gonna help me decipher it?"

"Like I know what the hell you're talking about!" Yuri snapped, "What is an _onsen_ even?!"

"Public baths, kid, you know, hot springs and boiling water." Victor clarified, "You should definitely travel more."

"Yeah, and?"

"It struck me a while ago; Yuuri definitely mentioned an onsen." Victor put a finger on his lip, "I had another dream about him; I think it's a sign."

Yuri seriously wondered if his life can get any more miserable than this.

He should have declined Yakov's offer to bring him with them to the World Championships, he should have. Maybe Yuri would've been wasting his time on the internet and taking care of his cat instead of listening to Victor talk about his wet dreams, the man was seriously challenging himself to become more repulsive by the day.

"Look, you dumb piece of shit," Yuri started, "The man was drunk out of his mind and blabbering in Japanese half of the time. He even asked you to be his _coach_ , for fuck sake, how much more do I need to say for you to realize he was messing with you?"

"I can be his coach." Victor suddenly said, out of the blue. "If he still wants..."

" _WHAT?!_ " Yuri wailed.

During the entire time Victor was pining over that pig, he never once mentioned the possibility of him actually taking his drunken offer. The whole situation was transforming from a booty call to a more dangerous domain way too quickly for Yuri to keep maintaining damage control. _Where the hell was Yakov?!_

"Victor, just shut the fuck up and listen to me," he was in front of the man now, his whole frame shaking. "You're starting to lose your head, alright? Do you know how ridiculous you sound right now?! That fat pig will never-"

"He isn't fat." Victor narrowed his eyes, "And hey, I saw Chulanont's selfie, the guy barely gained ten pounds."

Were they seriously having this conversation right now?!

"Your mind is clouded and you're not seeing that obvious shit in front of you!" Yuri pressed, "It was just a game for him, for his own sick amusement! He wanted to rile up the gold medalist so he could feel better about his loss!"

Yuri wasn't even sure if what he said was logical, but he continued anyway, "Everyone else saw it, Victor. So stop this nonsense, Russia needs you. The team needs you." _I need you, too, who's gonna choreograph my program?_ "Get your shit together, dude, the Free Skate is in an hour!"

"You don't get it, Yuri." Victor closed his eyes, his lips shaping in a thin line. "This shouldn't be happening to me. He can't just... leave me hanging like this. I need a sign, I can't stop thinking about him."

Yuri knew that the conversation was getting too deep, even if Victor was still acting like a self centered asshole. But Yuri didn't know how to deal with it, nor did he stop himself from retorting, "The only sign he'll give you is a huge _'Fuck off and stop defiling me in your head.'_ I assure you, so take the hint already."

Victor chuckled, smiling very, very uneasily, "You sure don't hold back your punches, Yuri."

Yuri blinked once, twice, and by the third time, Victor was gone, walking off to the other end of the lobby.

He didn't feel any remorse, though, Yuri knew that he did the right thing, for _all_ the parties involved.

Victor was an airhead, but Yuri wasn't. Yakov already had his hands full with him and everyone close to Victor knew how irresponsible the idiot was. Celestino was one of the best coaches in the business, and what exactly did Victor have to offer?

Look at Yuri for a second, he had promised him _seven years_ ago to help him with his senior debut, and what was Victor doing about it? _Nothing_.

Because that was the definition of Victor Nikiforov, a man who only cared about himself and barely kept up with the world around him, a man who mistook a finalist with a fan, a man who was so selfish he thought that it was his right to have the best things for himself.

Victor, at age twenty seven, still needed adult supervision, so how would he be responsible for someone else?

So god forbid he becomes Katsuki's coach.

He will just bring down the guy with him.

* * *

 **Later that night, Yuri was tongue tied.**

He was even more sure that he did and said the right things, because Victor, again, was performing his program flawlessly, not missing a tune of _Stay Close To Me_ without giving a perfect delivery, technicalities and expression-wise, too.

The program turned into a genuine plea.

 _All for the better,_ Yuri thought, burying his guilt. _More presentation points._

"He's nailing it, as always." Mila took the seat next to him, sighing. "God, at moments like these, I'm reminded of how much I love this man."

"He's not horrible." Was Yuri's way of showing agreement. He stretched his hand toward the redhead, palm opened.

"Thanks for letting me make that call." She gave his phone back. "I really should've packed a charger."

Yuri snorted, putting the device in the pocket of his hoodie. "Noob."

"Quick question."

"Yeah?" Yuri was having a difficult time detaching his eyes from Victor. _Fuck, this guy really is a genius._

"I was wondering," she smirked, the mischievousness clear in her voice. "Why is your phone filled with pictures of the Japanese Yuuri, hmm?"

Yuri's eyes widened so hard they almost bulged out of his head. "Do you understand the concept of privacy, you hag?!"

"I looked cute and had to take a selfie." She shrugged, her head inching closer. "You still didn't answer my question, kiddo."

"You're not the only one who plays with my phone," Yuri answered after a moment of obvious silence. "Victor does, too."

"Wow." Mila laughed, "For someone as impassive as you, you sure are a shit liar."

"Shut the fuck up!"

* * *

 **The next day, Yuri was stabbed in the back.**

Actually, that wasn't the right term now that Yuri thinks of it, because Victor had gone and stabbed him right in the fucking _face._

That day's training was vigorous at best; Yakov didn't give a fuck that half of the team was jet-lagged after their flight back home, the earning of another gold medal from his star pupil only serving to fuel his wrath on all the other skaters present.

Yuri took it like a champ, keeping his outbursts at minimum; he was used to his coach's sudden bursts of sadism; it was probably the old man's infamous ex wife who flipped his short fuse again, it happened on regular bases.

There Yuri was, drying his face with a towel after the quick shower he took, all his muscles more than sore. He finally had the liberty to open his phone, so he took full advantage of that right and started checking what the world was up to, the noise around him quieting.

He wasn't surprised that the first name that popped up on his notification panel was Yuuri Katsuki; because even his spell checker had memorized it and stopped correcting him each damn time he looked him up on impulse.

There was an unsettling feeling spreading through his chest as the video buffered, the title was in Japanese, yet, he _swore_ the foreign letters were mocking him.

Five minutes, and an awful beat of silence later, Yuri was speechless.

He was still drying his face, his hand moving on its own.

A lot of his questions were answered, although a dozen more popped up.

 _If he could skate like that, then what the actual fuck was that in the Grand Prix?_

 _Why is the quality so bad? His face was hardly shown!_

 _How can someone look so goddamn into it?_

 _Why is he showing this to the world?_

 _Is this his way of threatening Yuri?_

 _Where was he this entire time?_

 _Is he an idiot?_

That one came out loud, and the echo of his voice pulled Yuri out of his trance so he could actually process what just happened.

This... this was definitely Victor's program, the plea, _the fucking plea_.

His hand was shaking with trembles, the screen almost getting crushed under his fingers.

Because to his utter horror, that pig looked even _more_ desperate than when Victor performed it.

 _'I need a sign.'_

Yuri took off running as fast as his legs could carry him.

For the second time that week, he was rushing to Victor's apartment like a maniac.

 _This isn't happening! This isn't happening! This isn't happening!_ Yuri panicked, _Not when my senior debut is just around the corner!_ the entire situation felt like a harsh slap of déjà vu, but Yuri didn't give a shit.

 _The video was posted seven hours ago; there is no fucking way._

By the time he reached Victor's floor, Yuri was suicidal. God, this building was a nuisance.

"Vic-" the words were chocked right out of his lungs, but never completing, because Victor's apartment was swarming with delivery workers, endless boxes coming in and out like a sign of an apocalypse.

"Where is he?!" he grabbed the nearest man by the jacket, he knew he looked crazy, but who the fuck cared?

"I beg your pardon?"

"The man who's living here?!"

"Oh," the guy finally answered, "He's already out of the country, as far as I know. Somewhere in Asia... uh, Korea? Or was it Japan...?"

 _What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck what the-_

Yuri hung his head, screaming profanities on top of his lungs and whoever near him covering their ears and calling security.

 **\- To Be Continued**


	3. Chapter 3

**Somewhere in Japan, Yuri was furious.**

He found himself midair, his teeth grinding so hard his jaw hurt, and the flat of his foot on a back, sending that _fucking pig_ flying across the entrance of Ice Castle as resentfully as he can.

That son of bitch looked up to him with wide, pretty brown eyes that photographers never did them justice, making Yuri stomp on his glasses with all his might, demanding a huge ass apology to all that shit he's put him through those past few months.

"S-Sorry!"

"Fucking pig."

"Very sorry!"

"Fatso."

"Severely sorry!"

"It's all your fucking fault."

"Stop it, it hurts!"

 _"That's the point!"_ Yuri snapped, stomping one last time because it just felt good to give him some of the pain he's been receiving constantly because of him. "Are you happy now, huh?! Or do you want to ruin my life some more?!"

"What are you _on_ about...?" Katsuki whined, rubbing his reddened forehead. "What did I ever do to you?"

 _What the-_

 _Is he -_

 _Is he fucking serious?!_

"What did you _not_ do?!" Yuri fumed.

"Uhm, care to elaborate?"

"He promised to choreograph my program," Yuri leaned on the counter behind him, his tone finally settling as he tried to find some sort of equilibrium to this fuckshow that was happening. "What about you?"

Surely, he wasn't going to go with that man's whim, was he?

The media had just turned into a goddamn ruckus overnight, not knowing what to do with the news of the figure skating legend announcing his one year leave to coach Japan's top skater, for no sensible reason as far as everyone knew, Yakov had made that one clear during the only interview the reporters salvaged out of him, but Yuri knew better.

He had hoped that Victor was able to fuck Katsuki out of his system already, so all three of them could go back to their own lives and leave that fiasco behind them, only, it was just wishful thinking.

Because according to him, Katsuki's program wasn't even _brought up_ yet.

He knew it.

He fucking knew it.

Victor was messing around as predicted and thinking only about his dick when people's futures were at stake.

What was he even expecting?

"Heh," Yuri snarled, deciding to use a method that worked quite well in the banquet not so long ago, "As if someone like you, a pathetic pig that enjoys crying in bathroom stalls in his free time, would be worth it. What are your plans for the future, hm? Fuck up your way to the podium? Charm the judges with your disastrous jumps? Get sponsors using your crocodile tears?"

The response was immediate.

A knowing smirk spread over Katsuki's face as he looked down on him talking smack, possibly not hearing half of it. The whole thing was annoyingly familiar.

The man shrugged again, full of amusement as he finally replied, carefree and provoking. "I don't really know what this whole thing is about. You can go ask Victor yourself."

 _And why the fuck would I do that?_ Yuri watched the man's figure with a grimace as he followed him into the rink, bitterly impressed by how he had managed to shed all the extra weight within one week. _When I already know the answer?_

* * *

 **The next morning, Yuri was at a disadvantage.**

He knew he wasn't exactly the definition of a sex god who played with people's hearts like a fucking Russian Roulette, heck, Yuri haven't even come close to seducing any creature his entire fifteen years of life, even his _cat_ hated him with passion at first, but he was more than sure that he could pull it off way better than _Agapé Love_ ; he had came across that term in one of his history textbooks and god, did the meaning of it sound more foreign than Chinese.

"All this innocent shit makes me wanna barf." He voiced his complaints out loud, "I'm skating to Eros, Victor."

Strangely enough, the pig next to him was nodding furiously, agreeing with the arrangement.

That didn't seem quite right, but Yuri shrugged it off then; Katsuki did skate to Stay Close To Me with so much feelings that it was revoltingly beautiful, so maybe he was more confident with that sort of thing.

Yuri didn't mind it at all, he was just glad that he could keep that sexual piece away from him and prevent the banquet monster from appearing again, Yuri wasn't sure if he could compete with that fairly.

He knew the structure of Eros quite well, despite Victor being very secretive about the routine, and Yuri worried, he _worried_ that if that step sequence made its way into Yuuri Katsuki's hands, it'll be game over.

After all, that routine was literally _made_ for that man.

It was disgusting, that self awareness that made its ugly appearance in the pit of his core, Yuri wasn't familiar with it, but it was sure annoying as fuck and left him with inconvenient doubts.

And of course, Victor never wasted any chance in fucking him over.

Their shouts could've been heard throughout the whole of Hasetsu when Victor smugly assigned the routines.

Yuri didn't know what the fuck was Katsuki's problem and why he was panicking as aggressively as him, since it was quite obvious which one of them was thrown under the bus for Victor's sick pleasures.

 _It wasn't fair._

 _It wasn't fucking fair._

* * *

 **In the following days, Yuri realized lots of things.**

He unconsciously observed and deduced things around him like a goddamn investigator, finding out more absurd facts without even trying too hard because holy shit, Yuuri Katsuki was like a fucking rotten onion, every layer he peeled off only revealed more stink underneath.

It wasn't exactly stink, but Yuri decided on that unit of measurement, anyway. He wouldn't dare call any information he found out about that pig pleasing, satisfying, or of interest to him, _like fuck_ he would.

Though, he must admit, one information he got out of him was so satisfying that Yuri was unable to wipe the smirk from his face for days.

The revelation happened the same night he arrived. Yuri had waited all day to get some alone time with him but to no avail, Victor was like a goddamn leech, and Yuri was able to see how uncomfortable the Japanese man was getting the bolder and more embarrassing Victor became. Initially, he thought that maybe his unwelcomed presence prevented them from being perverts around the boy, but somehow, it did not look like that at all.

"So," he said as Yuuri prepared a futon for him past midnight, immediately cutting to the chase, "Did he sleep with you yet?"

Katsuki sighed one long sigh, that despite himself, made Yuri hopeful. "H-he asks me to _every single night_! What's up with that?"

Yuri's eyes widened in sheer shock. "E-e- _every_ night?!"

 _"Yes!_ "

Damn, he knew Victor was a thirsty motherfucker, especially when it came to that Japanese pig, but that was _way_ too desperate, even for him.

Katsuki shifted until he was facing where Yuri sat. "Does... does he tend to feel lonely at night, is that it?"

"Uh," Yuri definitely knew the answer to that, but he didn't want to support Victor's sickening, perverted cause and help him get laid, so the affirmation died in his tongue, "Wait, you _pig_ ," he narrowed his eyes, almost in chastise. "What do you do about it, huh?"

"I decline every time, of course." The man answered with a noticeable hint of guilt, "I think I do it rudely though, I-I try to be polite about it, I really do!"

 _Holy shit this guy is an absolute savage._

It almost made Yuri proud.

He wouldn't be surprised if Victor had cried himself to sleep once or twice because of it, and that was a lovely discovery, _oh so lovely_.

They fell into a routine that week as they waited for Victor to finish polishing their separate programs, well, if he could call it that, because nothing about that "routine" made any damn sense or was consistent, the discoveries of each day just left endless _what the fuck_ 's in Yuri's head when he settled in bed every night.

For one, Yuuri's social skills were as nonexistent as his Russian peer's, if not more, Yuri barely saw him talking more than a few sentences, and that was only around his family.

He did ballet before he took skating and was as skilled in it as every other type of dancing Yuri saw him indulge in, it was almost incomprehensible.

Confidence was something downright alien to him, despite countless evidence stored in both Yuri and Victor's phones stating otherwise.

Surprisingly, he tended to treat his fans like utter shit and wasn't aware of it. It might've been worse than the way Yuri interacted with his owns fans, if that was even _possible_.

He was completely oblivious to almost everything around him that it wasn't even funny. Victor's pining, he didn't see it. Yuri's curiosity and stalkerish behavior, he was blind to it. His importance and affect on the figure skating world, he was ignorant of it. The pride Hasetsu had in him and his countless posters around the village, he was indifferent about it.

Yuri almost snapped that one time he called himself _'a dime of dozen Japanese skater'_ at his hearing and pointed at all the trophies distributed around the onsen or reminded him of the fact that the fucking pig was literally known to the world as _'Japan's Ace'_.

He thankfully held himself.

Foremost, and despite his obvious ill-treatment, Katsuki seemed to admire Victor, _a lot_ , but only from a shitton of distance, like letting the man get any close to him was some sort of abomination.

It was hilarious and enjoyable to watch Victor's desperation oozing out day by day, though.

To sum it all up, Yuri reached a final conclusion and stamped it on his thesis, that is, Yuuri Katsuki was a fucking walking contradiction and Yuri was beyond tired of trying to figure out what the hell the man was trying to do.

Until one eventful day, everything came to light.

Yuri had stayed awake the night before with a thought that struck him suddenly like a lightening bolt, and stayed there for further analysis until the more he thought of it, the more it made sense and answered all the questions lying in thin air.

He still needed some sort of confirmation to his theory, and Yuri was sure he never put so much effort in being this sly his entire life, but that day at the breakfast table after Victor left to feed his greedy dog, Yuri Plisetsky passed with fucking flying colors.

"Hey, pig,"

"Y'know, Yurio," Katsuki murmured, "I have a real name."

"I have one too, you hypocritical asshole!"

"Oh," the pig chuckled in realization, "What is it, Yuri?"

He did not think the way he pronounced their name was brilliant, he did _not._ "Say," Yuri started, "Do you know how to break dance?"

Several things happened all at once. The water glass he was sipping on landed on the table, water spilled in all directions from the man's mouth, a coughing spree ensued violently, Katsuki half-shouted and half-cried out _'W-who told you?!'_ , and Yuri clutched the edge of the table for dear life, almost screaming _'BINGO!'_ in victory.

"The fuck, pig?!" Yuri frowned, his every word calculated and careful. "It was just a lucky guess, don't die yet, for fuck sake."

"W-w-why do you ask?" Katsuki brought a cloth with light speed and began wiping the table, crimson red from embarrassment.

"I was thinking of taking some classes," Yuri shrugged, "It's pretty popular in my school."

"Ah, I see," the older man was instantly relieved. "It was popular in mine too, college, I mean."

"Heh," Yuri tried not to smirk too widely, "I bet you're fucking horrible at it, just like everything else."

It was infuriating, the way Katsuki laughed wholeheartedly, and not in the _'I can destroy you, you know'_ kind of way, but more like _'You're right, don't remind me'_ kind.

"I'm pretty rusty." Was his final, stupidly modest answer. "But you should definitely do it; it's really good cardio, and it's enjoyable too. All kind of dancing is, actually."

"Is that so?" Yuri raised an eyebrow, "What about pole dancing?"

Another glass had fallen and a fresh human fountain formed in Katsuki's mouth. "Y-you-you're _way_ too young for that, Yurio!"

"I've seen it in person once, it's very interesting." Yuri informed.

"Who was that _irresponsible_ adult?!"

"I'm not fucking ten." Yuri retaliated. "But you're right, he was an absolute idiot, and so very naked."

"Oh my god, you must be traumatized!"

"Quite the contrary," he answered, sounding way older than his age. "It made me stronger as a human being, pig; I think I can face anything now without so much as a blink."

* * *

 **When the week was over, Yuri was being tortured.**

Because watching Victor embarrass himself further and come off as an absolute creep was a pain to his eyesight.

Did the man have any idea how he looked right now?

Alas, the more Yuri looked into it, the worse it seemed for Victor.

That man, that moronic, repulsive man that never thought of the pros and cons of his actions, threw away his career, turned the entire skating world upside down, sold his apartment, took his dog and all his belongings and flew across the continent, crashed into the poor pig's family onsen uninvited, and made it his mission to sexually harass the guy at daily basis because of a _two minute video_.

That was pretty much how it looked like from Katsuki's perspective, good god.

And now, if Yuri didn't interfere soon, sexual harassment was going to turn into assault pretty quickly, because their lips were _that_ fucking close.

Yuri was _boiling_.

"HEY VICTOR!" Yuri called across the rink. "Stop that shit and train me!"

Victor cheerfully announced that he was coming over, detaching his fingers from Katsuki's lips and chin before gliding past him at last, thank fuck, and shot Yuri a betrayed look the second he was a good distance away.

He honestly didn't know who he was protecting, himself from the mental scarring, Katsuki who was trembling in fear, or Victor from a future restraining order.

* * *

 **A few days later, Yuri tortured back.**

Victor Nikiforov had managed to show him hell itself and make Yakov seem like an angel sent from heaven.

Victor loved shooting ridiculous requirements at Yuri like a goddamn machete, his endless ammo being blatant criticism, constant wounds to his ego as a skater, and a list of ideas that would "help him" "discover" "his Agapé", from strange yoga exercises to trying out weird Japanese foods, to getting his ass beat in temples that could definitely be sued for child abuse, and even standing under waterfalls on hours to no end.

By the end of day five, Yuri wanted to die and never see that man's face again for the rest of his life, even if that was absolute bullshit, and even if he _did_ end up getting a better idea on what he'll convey on the Onsen On Ice.

But now, now that he had the side of his face flat on the table, now that he could see Katsuki in the same state as him, now that every single bone in his body hurt, Yuri was _drained_.

He might've been drooling in exhaustion, but he simply didn't care anymore.

The silence was mutual, and the mood was dead, just the way he liked it.

Good.

Now, if he just could just forget that he was surrounded by dirty plates.

If he could just ignore the needy dog nuzzling on his feet.

If he could just close his eyes and-

"I got it!" Katsuki was suddenly sitting up straight, slamming a hand on the table and being way louder than necessary. How he found the energy for that, the currently washed out Yuri had no idea. "My true Eros!"

Victor looked so hopeful that Yuri wanted to spit on his face, well, if he could find any will to move from his spot any time soon, that is.

Katsuki seemed like he had figured out Einstein's unfinished symphony when he shouted, " _Katsudon!_ "

That... _definitely_ did not solve the theory of everything.

But it might've as well been close to, the dish was a fucking masterpiece if Yuri could say so himself.

 _Ugh_ , he huffed. _I'm too tired for this shit._

By the time he managed to focus on his surroundings again, the Katsudon man had already rushed out of the house, fleeing from the embarrassment of the crap he previously sprouted.

Yuri laughed, like someone dying from a lethal disease, but he laughed.

"It's not funny!" Victor snapped at him.

"You're right, it's _hilarious_." Yuri forced some more evil sniggers, "Victor, this is obviously a waste of time, let's just go back to Russia already."

"I'm not going anywhere." Victor responded instantly.

He will, pretty soon, even if he probably forgot his promise again, but _he will_ , Yuri was going to make sure of it.

"Yur _io_..." Victor whispered in that annoying, whiny voice again, resting his head on the table next to Yuri's. _This was MY napping spot, goddamnit._ "I feel blocked."

"Look, I don't know where you got this ridiculous idea that we're besties or something," Yuri grumbled tiredly, "But I do not, I repeat, _do not_ want to listen to you bitching about your sexual frustrations."

" _Not cockblocked!_ "

Yuri snorted. "Right."

Silence graced the room again, and whether it was a comfortable or uncomfortable one, Yuri didn't care, he just appreciated that Victor had finally shut his mouth.

Until he opened it again, and more bullshit came out.

"Yurio," Victor perked up after a moment of intense eye contact, "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"No." Yuri answered without missing a beat, very grateful for that.

"We need to bring out his true Eros somehow."

" _I_ don't need to do shit."

"-Maybe give him a shot before practice, loosen him up a little."

"I'm pretty sure that's illegal, and the JSF wouldn't be too happy about it." Yuri closed his eyes. "Side note, you're fucking _stupid_!"

"You can't even handle a joke, Yurio."

"Well, I'm handling _you_ , aren't I?!"

"Rude."

"Fuck your face, asshole."

"Look, I know you always strive to come up with the freshest insults, but that one didn't make any sense, and was inappropriately suggestive."

"Fuck. Your. Face."

" _Rude_."

Yuri was halfway through dozing off when he heard some bullshitty theories all over again.

"Maybe Yuuri is asexual." Victor mumbled, "I won't mind much if he is, to be honest, but the routine will possibly go ashtray."

"Sure, yeah," Yuri nodded, half asleep. He didn't even know what that term meant, but according to his biology teacher, Katsuki would definitely not be able to produce an offspring all by himself.

"That wouldn't explain the dry humping, though," Victor pouted, "Perhaps he's still embarrassed by what happened in the banquet?"

"Embarrassed by you, for sure."

"As if." There was some shuffling and an awful stench of denial. "I want to remind him of our dance _so bad_ , but I don't want to sound sappy."

Yuri opened his eyes, suddenly, he was wide awake and wanted to burst out laughing like a maniac at the thoughtful, calculating expression he saw.

 _Too late for that, moron, way too late._.

"Are you done yet?" Yuri yawned.

"I swear, sometimes he seems like he doesn't even _remember_ , it's so frustrating."

"Oh, he remembers, he _definitely_ remembers," Yuri lied his ass off immediately, "Who would be able to forget someone like you? And besides, don't forget the video, that one _can't_ be a coincidence."

He took the bait way faster than expected and nodded in agreement, not even considering that hey, the man fucking drank _eighteen glasses of champagne_ and amnesia was _the very first worldwide known symptom of being drunk_ , because well, what would you expect from Victor Nikiforov?!

"Listen," Yuri bit back another yawn and braced himself for a long ass lecture. Again. "The pig isn't asexual, he isn't embarrassed, he's just _not interested_ in you that way. He's having problems with Eros because you just shoved the routines on our faces and ignored what we wanted. So reap what you sow, fucktard. And fucking besides, are you sure he's even _gay_? Did you ask? Of course not! You just dive in head first into shit! The guy has probably been straight as a ruler this whole time. I mean, have you _seen_ his childhood pictures with Yuuko framed all over the living room? He looked so stupidly in love it's pathetic, he even bought a fucking poodle just like yours to impress her, for fuck sake, too bad she's married with three kids now but well, life just sucks that way, Victor, maybe you need to realize that too."

"Alright, stop," Victor waved his hand, clearly unable to take all those blows at once. "Let's take a breather."

"-And even _if_ he was interested in any way," Yuri kept at it, throwing grenades of hurtful shit left and right. "Then why hasn't he bothered to have a proper conversation with you this entire time, huh?! Tell me, when was the last time you two talked about something that wasn't related to skating? Heck, when was the last time he said something to you that wasn't a timid _'H-hai!'_? When?!"

" _Jesus Christ,_ Yurio."

"And don't let me get started on this suspicious thing going on between him and that ballet teacher," Yuri breathed in, and out, and went on with his assault. "I mean, all that sexual tension between them is suffocating!"

"Hey!" That one really seemed to hit close to the target. "I thought me and him had suffocating sexual tension."

"Are you kidding me?" Yuri shook his head like a disappointed parent. "Since when did half assed, incorporated advances define as sexual tension?! Get your eyes checked! Take a look at the Urban Dictionary!"

"Gosh, why do I even talk to you?" Victor ran a hand through his hair with a pitiful pout. "You're so depressing."

"I'm all blunt honesty, fuckface, that's why!" Yuri shot back, "I say the truth like it is and you just can't take it!"

"Like any of what you say comes true," Victor countered, laughing teasingly, "You're like my last year's zodiac predictions."

" _Shut it!_ "

* * *

 **The next morning, Yuri was having a good time.**

It was hard sometimes, really hard to not be flattered, even the Russian Punk couldn't escape that, he might've not been a blushing, stuttering mess at the praise, but he did feel his spirit being lifted with the request, even if he didn't show it.

Because well, Yuri wasn't legally able to do quads until a few months ago, yet, there Yuuri Katsuki was, his eight years senior, asking _him_ for help on his quad Salchow.

Him, and not Victor.

Well.

"Alright, whatever."

If Yuri was a smart, self respecting figure skater with a good head on his shoulders, he would've taken that golden chance and asked the pig for advices on his own step sequences as payback, but he simply didn't.

There was just something about showing him the quad, seeing Katsuki fail in it miserably, insulting him with eagerness, giving him hints and pointers, looking at him nod with that glint in his irises and listen to him like Yuri was _the shit_ , (then repeat) that really, really made him feel helpful and appreciated.

Yuri rarely felt helpful, if he was being honest, and almost never felt appreciated.

And it was a new, ecstatic feeling, so infectious that he didn't want to take anything in return for it.

The odd, unexplainable session ended with Victor's appearance.

Yuri wanted to laugh like a villain, specifically like Jared Letto's Joker, because despite not showing that Yuri's words got to him the last time they talked, Victor gracelessly entered the rink, looking like shit, undoubtedly have spent the night before drinking away his miseries.

* * *

 **At the Onsen On Ice, Yuri felt defeated.**

It wasn't like he wasn't familiar to it.

He was an athlete, a competitive figure skater from Russia, he learned how to skate since he was three, known what he wanted to do with his life at four, and officially or not, he had competed ever since.

There was a certain mindset that skaters were grown into, consequences they prepared for, and circumstances that they had to consider.

It was a universal fact that every time a skater entered the rink, it was to compete, not to win.

Winning was something every single one of them set as their goals, a thirst that united them all, so of course, not all could step out with gold medals around their necks, after all, it was only the one, a piece that wasn't meant to be shared, a piece that was created to adorn one person's chest.

There wasn't a golden medal this time.

Yet, the taste of losing never felt more bitter in his tongue.

He felt like someone had grabbed him by the jaw and shoved a pile of ash down his throat, sealed his lips, strangled his neck, and let every particle burn in his mouth without any passage for escape.

Yuri might say that the failed Quadruple Salchow gave him hope but the final step sequence took it away.

But really, he knew his time was nearing an end the moment Yuuri entered the rink.

It was funny, how their routines not just contradicted their natural personas, but required the same thing from both of them at the same time.

Vulnerability was personal, and willingly showing it to the entire world was like being naked under the spotlight and accepting that everyone's eyes were on you, it was like charging into the battlefield without an armor and knowing that you won't come out of it alive, it was as if you're watching the man that raised you weaken with age until you realise that he would fade away too soon.

Skating to his grandpa was what Agapé Love meant to him, vulnerable, helpless, unconditional.

Yuri couldn't wait until it was over.

Showing confidence you don't have, was Yuuri Katsuki's vulnerability, less deep, but somehow rooted more firmly than his.

Yet, the roots swell and loosen when dipped into water.

And ice was just a solid form of water, wasn't it?

It was only then that Yuri grasped the true extent of his disadvantage, but it was too late.

Victor might have fallen at the end of the banquet, but at the end of Eros, he soared with wings that weren't his own.

Someone else fell this time.

He didn't wait for the results; the right side of the podium never suited him, anyway.

Yuri went back home with the one thing that he wanted his entire life: a powerful, winning senior debut program choreographed by his idol.

Victor had put all his heart into it, _he knew that_ , he knew that the man was never going to give a piece that showcases sexual love to a fifteen year old boy from the first place. He knew that he had sculptured Agapé into Yuri's exact form and suit. He knew that Victor understood his skating more than anyone else in the world and didn't fail to give him what he wanted and more.

Yet, Yuri never felt more cheated.

He didn't understand, he didn't know what it was, he just knew that _it wasn't fair_.

 ** _It wasn't fucking fair._**

The unbalanced voices were always with him. The beautiful melody never stopped playing – the tunes, the hisses, the screams – but it was the first time that Yuri grabbed into them, it was the first time he knew that they were there for help.

 **-To Be Continued**


	4. Chapter 4

**During the Grand Prix preparations, Yuri was disappointed.**

He, for once, didn't understand where his crushing rage was coming from exactly, Yuri just knew that his heart felt heavy, that his teeth hurt from excessive grinding, and that his eyeballs were widening from sheer vexation.

It's not like he didn't expect that particular outcome, heck, the whole fucking skating community did; Katsudon was included in the qualifier event merely to confirm that the bastard was still alive, he was practically competing with skaters so below his level that it was offensive to him and everyone who knew him.

Still, that picture that appeared on his Instagram feed did some very funny things to his alleged self control.

Yuuri Katsuki, the skittish piece of shit that ran away from all of Victor's advances like it was the most lethal of poisons, was now, while sporting a very worrying nosebleed, skating toward his coach and flying for a hug as if his sorry life depended on it.

 _So that's how long it took, huh_? Yuri's hand was trembling. _So fucking disappointing_.

He didn't even catch the profanity that escaped his mouth, because at this point, filthy words were merely a reflex to him, the sharp sound of his phone breaking into pieces against the window in front of him, however, couldn't have escaped anyone's ears.

"That's the fourth one this month." Georgi informed unhelpfully. "You're lucky you have so many sponsors up your ass, kid."

Behind him, Yuri was still defiling a certain Japanese man's honor with a collection of colorful curses, the word _'whore'_ was echoing spontaneously around the rink.

"It's a nice picture," Mila smirked, "Hashtag relationship goals, am I right?"

" _Shut the fuck up, hag!"_

* * *

They're worthless.

Yuuri Katsuki is worthless.

You have to show Victor how worthless he is.

You have to show him how worthless Yuuri made him.

You have to.

 _You have to._

* * *

 **The following months, Yuri had already sold his body and soul to the devil**.

Said devil being none other than Lilia Baranovskaya, the infamous ex wife that Yuri grew up hearing horror stories about from other senior skaters, including Victor himself back in the day.

Yakov was starting to look like a softie in Yuri's eyes, really, after experiencing what it was like being coached under the silver haired pile of filth, he was now going through constant labour under Lilia, who was certainly a force to be reckoned with.

With her, Yuri was never enough, nothing he ever did, attempted, or suggested, was ever up to her standards, and it crushed him anew every single time; not once in his whole life did he feel this inadequate, not once did he think he would go through such a rude awakening.

A part of him wanted to hold the holy bible in her face in hopes she would vanish, since she was basically Lucifer incarnate, but a bigger part of him, a masochistic part he had recently discovered, would do anything, would _give her everything_ he had just to replicate the image she had of him in her head, as fast as it was humanly possible.

Inhumanly, too, because he would do _anything_.

' _People who are reborn as many times as necessary are the strong ones.'_ Lilia had once told him in those rare times she wasn't busy yelling in his ears, and Yuri took his time to understand her words.

At first, he thought that she was merely killing him off as a sacrifice to the deepest depths of hell every day, but no, every time she brought him down, with every mock, every angry exclamation, and with every hurtful bit of criticism, Lilia was slowly morphing him into the beautiful, strong, and indestructible prima ballerina who crushed every single son of a bitch who came his way.

If they were the strong ones, indeed, then Yuri wondered how many times Victor was reborn, how many times _Katsuki_ was reborn from the ashes, and he swore, with every bit of his being, that whatever the count was, he was going to double – no, _triple_ it for himself.

Because no matter what the cost was, Yuri was going to take the one thing the two bastards desired the most.

The gold medal was going to be Yuri's, and Yuri's only, his body and soul won't be sacrificed in vain.

Sooner or later, he was going to make them feel exactly what he felt.

* * *

Victor is lost.

You have to bring him back.

You can't let Yuuri keep him forever.

You escaped, but Victor didn't.

You have to save him.

 _You have to._

* * *

 **At the end of his first senior event, Yuri was in shock.**

His forehead was glistering with sweat, his legs were numb, his heart was punishing his ribcage with friction, and loudest of all, was the solid beep in his ears.

Yuri worked his ass off, his programs came out nicely, he was exhausted to the very bone, and even Lilia stopped scowling for one second, yet somehow, someway, he ended up holding a medal with shaky hands and it was silver.

His medal was silver.

And he was there, the deafening crowds were there, the cameramen were there, and why the hell wasn't he standing on top of the podium, anyway?

"Stop making that face, it's not a good look on you." JJ chuckled from his spot _above_ him.

Yuri snapped back involuntarily, "I'll _fuck you up_ with that face!"

"Feisty."

* * *

Yuuri is laughing at you.

He's mocking you.

He's looking down at you.

You have to stop him.

You have to prove him wrong.

 _You have to_.

* * *

 **It was an hour later, when Yuri was officially a phone serial killer.**

' _Yurio! Your FS was so incredible! Keep up the hard work!'_ _ᕦ_ _(_ _ᐛ_ _)_ _ᕤ_

' _Oh and Victor says hi._ ಸ‿ಸ _'_

 _God_ , Yuri thought miserably, his fifth phone about to break to the point of no return. _The voices are right_.

They always were.

"Hey, Plisetsky," the most irritating sound in existence came from behind him. "What are you doing here? Do you need directions?"

"Why _the fuck_ would I need directions?" Yuri closed his phone, snarling.

"You seem lost," the smirk on JJ's face was the ugliest thing he had ever seen. "Because you know, the _Ladies'_ Singles are that way-"

It was only a matter of time before Yuri's phone crashed into a hard surface, and that hard surface just happened to be JJ's forehead.

"Jesus Christ, loosen up a little!"

" _Go fuck yourself, asshole!"_

* * *

 **During the Cup Of China, Yuri felt bloodthirsty, slowly at first, then all at once.**

Yuri might be relatively young, but he fancied himself pretty fucking wise.

There are some things he predicted, and there are other things he knew.

For one, he knew that Victor was an irresponsible piss bucket, he knew too goddamn well that he will bring Katsuki down with him, he had called it since day fucking one.

But Victor refused to listen and Katsuki refused to take the fucking hint.

And here they were now.

When it happened, Mila voiced a sarcastic comment that Yuri didn't quite catch, since he was too busy seeing a bright, angry _red_ in his vision, however, he did sense her poorly hidden concern.

The two had disappeared almost the entire event that Yuri wondered if they were planning to skip the whole thing, but he was, for some reason, relieved when they were spotted again at the end of Georgi's performance.

The relief was short lived when he saw Katsudon's face.

His fists clinched, making the nails dig harshly into his palm.

Three thoughts came rushing into his head in light speed, all addressing Victor.

 _What did I even expect from you?_

 _What the fuck were you thinking?_

 _Why aren't you doing anything?!_

Yuri would never admit which one he thought of first.

He didn't need the commentator's brilliant – fucking obvious – deductions to see that Katsudon had been crying his eyes out before he entered the rink.

 _I told you so_ , he wanted to scream at the television. _I fucking told you that this would happen_.

What did Victor know about him, anyway? What did he know about coaching, even? What did he know about Yuuri's crippling anxiety?

Had he taken notes from Celestino on how to deal with it? _Obviously not_. Had he seen the way he broke down the first time Yuri met him? _No._ Had he read his in-depth analysis that countless sport professionals wrote about his career? _Fuck no!_ Did he have any clue how severe his mental problems were and that his cheap displays of affection and harsh comments only made it worse? _NO!_

And here he was now, avoiding eye contact with his own goddamn student and proving Yuri right, and fuck, did it sting more than anything else.

That's good for you.

They ought to suffer too.

Victor is already making an embarrassment of himself.

Why aren't you happy about it?

You should be.

Yuuri is worthless, after all.

And now Victor is, too.

You were right.

You were-

Yuri grunted, not submitting to the voices entirely, not this time.

All the cameras were now focused on the pathetic pair, endless amount of bullshit gossip spreading around the stadium. Georgi's scores were nearly forgotten amidst the odd situation, in which, according to Mila, weren't entirely bad because Yuri wasn't paying attention to him either.

By the time Katsuki's turn came, Yuri was _boiling_ , because Victor still wasn't doing _anything_ to help himself.

The view was blocked by Katsuki's scrawny figure, but Yuri saw it like his eyes were made of laser, he saw the tip of his finger purposely poking Victor's thinning hairline, a very creative insult, Yuri had to admit, since everyone who knew the man were aware that his hair was a more sensitive subject than his own dead babushaka.

Yuri would've been satisfied if he did not see Victor pulling a face, an expression that looked like Katsuki had just forgiven whatever fuckup he committed.

 _He doesn't deserve it_ , Yuri thought bitterly, once again disappointed by the Japanese man. _What are you doing? Victor doesn't fucking deserve it_.

* * *

 **Yuri regretted his misplaced protectiveness almost immediately afterwards**.

" _What a great moment to witness! This was the birth of a new Katsuki Yuuri, whom had just, a few seconds ago, proved himself to be a man that will exceed all of our expectations!"_

" _I completely agree with you, and we must take into consideration that Katsuki's attempt at the quadruple flip was not something we can overlook easily, this truly depended on the circumstances, and with no doubt we'd be able to see a succession soon."_

" _And to think that it was done at the end of the second half of the program! That is absolutely remarkable, even with that landing!"_

" _Ahaha, his coach is sure as enthusiastic as the rest of us; he's making his way to the Kiss and Cry, and look at him run!_ "

" _What a man! If I were him and any fellow skater attempted that certain quad I would – OH MY GOD!"_

" _Was that – was that a KISS?!"_

The voices rushed back in full force, louder than the commentator's exclamations and the collective gasps around him.

He sat back, full of hate and dark sentiments he couldn't name, and listened to all the insults inside his head about a certain unworthy fucking pig.

And this time, Yuri agreed with them obediently, not intending to doubt the voices ever again.

* * *

Victor is already talking about how Yuuri will beat you.

He no longer remembers you exist.

He no longer believes in you.

You have to destroy Yuuri.

He already took enough from you.

You hate Yuuri, don't you?

You obsess over every idea of him because you want to defeat him.

Yuuri is a threat to you.

You work hard to surpass him because you hate him.

 _You hate him_.

* * *

 **When he arrived in Moscow, Yuri felt chastened.**

There were some very rare times that Yuri allowed himself to be human, allowed himself to show all of his Agapé Love without fear of being scolded by the voices, without jealousy and envy blocking his way.

And those weren't times, weren't places, they were a person.

He spotted the rusty old car, the grey hair hidden under the hat, and heard the small horn calling for him.

And Yuri ran.

Forgetting about his grandpa's back and weak joints, Yuri hugged the old man with as much force as possible, curling his legs around him, wrapping his arms on his neck, and tried so, _so_ hard, to make himself feel as small as possible, to return to that innocent child and relive the life he once had, without worries, without pressure on his shoulders, without the deafening voices and constant anger.

And goddamnit, did it make him more feel alive with the little happiness it provided.

He wasn't Yuri Plisetsky, the Ice Tiger of Russia, the Russian Punk, the junior gold medalist for three consecutive years, no, when he was with his grandpa, Yuri was _Yuratchka_ , nothing more, nothing less.

He was the little greedy boy with too much life and energy, who would never have enough of any form of affection.

Fuck, it was almost embarrassing, but Yuri didn't care, he _loved_ every second of it.

During the car ride home, every bite of pirozhki tasted absolutely exquisite on his neglected taste buds, rich and hot and just the way Yuri loved it the most, no one in the entire world could bake them the way his grandpa did, and Yuri was fucking proud of that.

The thought of sharing his grandpa's pirozhki sent a chill down his spine, the possessive part of him dreaded anyone enjoying that bliss, so Yuri made sure to eat every last crumb, no matter the childish reasons behind it.

"So Katsudon, huh?" his grandpa suddenly murmured, sounding very suspicious. "Do you know the recipe, Yuratchka?"

 _Jesus, he will never let this go_. Yuri thought, guilt eating him whole. "Grandpa," he whined, "You don't have to, really, you don't."

"You are a very picky eater, Yuratchka." He told him, "Look at you, all skin and bones."

"It helps with skating." Yuri informed him, earning a very unimpressed look from the man behind the wheel. "And besides, Katsudon isn't very healthy."

"Nonsense," his grandpa waved him off, being the arch enemy of the diets Yakov and Lilia force him into. "I'll see what I can do, and you'll get to give some to your new friend, how about that?"

" _Grandpa."_ Yuri pleaded.

"What?" he answered innocently, "The other Yuuri will love it, he's such a good kid."

"He's not my friend."

"You talk about him all the time," his grandpa noted, as if it proved otherwise.

"He's my rival." Yuri said sternly.

"And who told you that rivals can't be friends too? Don't be childish." His grandpa chastened, "He always says nice things about you in interviews, and he's very polite, not like Victor."

For Yuri's sake, his grandpa always kept tabs on the figure skating world, not wanting to be completely oblivious to his grand child's profession. He had never seen Victor in person, either, all he knew was the image Yuri portrayed him as, which wasn't a very good one, and his cockiness and thirst for attention with the media didn't help, so naturally, he wasn't Victor's biggest fan, not with Yuri's endless rants about him whenever he came back home.

His grandpa didn't understand anything, however, he didn't understand that Katsuki's words were a façade, a sort of venom that only affected Yuri, he didn't understand that every word of bullshit support from the Japanese man was a stab to his chest, a laugh at his face, and a deep form of mockery.

"You always had a hard time making friends," he suddenly said, a sad tone evident on his voice. "He and his family welcomed you so warmly to their home; I know he cares about you. Give him a chance; he won't hurt you like Victor."

 _He already did, grandpa,_ Yuri wanted to burst. _He hurt me more than anyone ever did_.

"I will." He lied.

"That's my Yuratchka."

He wasn't. Not anymore.

* * *

 **When Yuri entered the hotel, he was murderous.**

Yuri could almost feel his aura, decorative, shiny, and sucking the life out of everyone around him with the attention he demanded.

"Ah, enough about me," he said confidently, as if Yuri didn't fucking exist anymore. "For now, just keep your eyes on Katsuki Yuuri."

Yuri wanted to scream, he wanted to lash out and tackle him to the floor, punch the smug out of his face, and remind him that he once had two students, not one.

But that was useless at this point, wasn't it?

"Oh, Yurio!"

 _Oh god, fuck me up_.

He felt an arm wrapping around his shoulder, bringing him uncomfortably close to the older man's chest, Yuri wanted to push him away, but for some reason, he still had a tiny glimpse of hope, the side of him that grew up wanting Victor's approval, wanting every bit of praise, reemerged, so he pushed his urges away, and waited.

"Have you seen Yuri's Short Program?" Victor told the reporters who were now surrounding him. "I'm the one who choreographed it."

 _Son of a bitch_.

Merely on instinct, Yuri bitterly slapped Victor's hand away, the coffee cup he was holding spilling all over the carpeted floor.

"Listen here, asshole," Yuri grumbled straight to his face, "Stop acting like you're the top Russian skater because news flash?! You're not! _I'm_ the star of this event."

Victor just gave him one of the chilliest, most mocking smiles he could muster.

And Yuri felt degraded.

* * *

 **A few minutes later, Yuri was starting to feel like a joke**.

He heard the ruckus, saw the shitshow that the twins were pulling again, sensed the discomfort from the man Yuri had eyes on the moment he went for the elevators, like a hawk, like a fucking radar designed to locate him.

His instincts might've told him to push and slap Victor away, but contradictory, they told him to drag Katsuki out of there and save him, his heart, for some odd reason, beating way too fucking wildly.

Katsuki fled for the second elevator, and Yuri almost flew in light speed to catch him.

"Hey, piggy," Yuri growled angrily the moment he made his way into the elevator, "Why are you sneaking around, huh?!"

People would normally snap back, or demand why he was so pissed, Yuri can admit it happened to him way too often, but his comebacks were always prepared, the insults just waiting to become vocal, since, well, Yuri never had an answer to that, he never knew why, either.

But instead, Katsuki's stupid face _brightened_ at the sight of him. "Oh Yurio, it's been a while!"

Seven months and six days, to be exact, but Yuri didn't think either of them wanted to know that.

Fuck, Yuri suddenly realized, his obsession to skate on the same ice as that man didn't spare his calendar any daily harassment.

He just dug his nails deep into the pockets of his hoodie, and glared viciously at the door in front of him, absolutely furious at himself.

He was near combusting when the man next to him spoke again, "Good luck, Yurio," Katsuki said, just the way his grandpa described, nice and polite and so unlike Victor and all that fake shit, "Let's do our best, ne?"

"You'll suffer a fucking miserable defeat here in Moscow," Yuri replied hatefully, not sugar coating any of it. "And Victor will have to stay, so enjoy the little time you have left with that fucker."

And Katsuki, Katsuki just gave him that _look_ , identical to the one Victor gave him in the lobby, as if he was nothing, as if he was merely a sort of amusement to them.

As if he was a fucking _joke_.

* * *

They will keep looking down at you like that.

They will keep laughing.

You have to set them right.

You have to hurt them the same way they hurt you.

 _You have to._

* * *

 **At the first day of the Rostelecom Cup, Yuri felt helpless.**

Victor wasn't the only one whose heart soared when Katsuki Yuuri skated.

The precision, the determination, the confidence that only appeared on the ice, and the passion that Yuri was sure he could never reach himself even if he tried the hardest, it was that side of Yuuri, the side he so desperately wanted to show the world the first time Yuri laid eyes on him.

It was only when he was on the ice that Yuri didn't completely harbor dark feelings toward him, which was ridiculously ironic, because it was the place this whole hatred should've bloomed from.

But it wasn't, it never was, and what the actual place was, Yuri never knew, and perhaps he never will.

Yet, surely, the ice wasn't, the ice couldn't.

Because watching Katsuki Yuuri skate did anything but make Yuri hate him.

And what it did, exactly, Yuri never knew either.

But as soon as he made his way to the Kiss and Cry, panting and blushing and softening, the dark feelings resurfaced in full force.

"Out of my way, pig." Yuri demanded, trying his hardest to display the confidence he had seen the other man convey earlier.

He felt eyes following him as he stepped into the rink, and the knowledge that they were brown ones made his teeth clinch.

Nothing was clear anymore, his bravado only lasting until he was now facing his two coaches, his breath picked up speed again, his vision blurred dangerously, and whatever Yakov and Lilia were saying was suddenly mute to his ears.

The world was fading, and he didn't know where the guidelines where, he didn't know what he was supposed to walk on anymore.

He didn't know how to compete with what he just witnessed, let alone surpass it.

He didn't know who the enemy was anymore, he didn't who was the ally, either.

He needed something, but he didn't know what it was.

He didn't even know what he was doing.

His grandpa wasn't there, his Agapé Love wasn't there, and his heart was only filled with hatred and anger.

Russia was watching, Russia was waiting for him to demolish the Japanese skater that took their hero away.

Russia was putting her hands on his shoulders, heavy, crushing hands, full of expectations, full of hope, full of greed.

Russia wanted her rightful place, and Yuri was her fix, Yuri was the host body she was trying to possess.

Her hands moved, tightening around his neck, her expectations turning into commands, her encouragement turning into a threat.

And Yuri was chocking.

Even the voices weren't there.

 _Calm down_ , he told himself, his air supply ceasing painfully. _Calm down, calm down, calm down, calm the fuck down-_

"Yurio!"

His breath returned, his esophagus allowing passageway into his lungs, and his ears started functioning again, picking up the sound of his name from numerous sources and forms, _'Yuri', 'Yuratchka', 'Russian Fairy', 'Russian Tiger', 'Yuri', 'Yuri', 'Yuri'._

"Davai!" he heard it again, the voice that anchored him and returned him to the present time, smooth, airy, and full of love.

"H- _Huh?_ " Yuri responded, not knowing any other way to communicate with the source, why was Katsuki screaming so enthusiastically, anyway?

The man grinned happily.

Then someone pushed him away, instantly breaking the moment.

"Yurio, davai!" Victor imitated, waving like a maniac.

And Yuri remembered.

Unfortunately, he remembered the life he was in, and remembered just who was kissing Katsuki's foot a second ago.

And Yuri turned, all spite showing perfectly, and he skated, and skated, and _skated_.

It was one of the worst performances he ever gave.

But it was a performance, nonetheless, and Yuri dreaded to thank the man who brought him back.

* * *

You hate him.

You want to see him lose.

You can't wait for the day he breaks down again in the bathroom.

And this time because of you.

You hate him.

You hate him so much.

...

... Don't you?

* * *

 **The next day, Yuri was lost.**

He was flying.

He was flying and his wings were in the form of raging flames, his program arranging itself in sync, his skates perfecting every move beautifully that Yuri was long gone halfway through, lost, and not wanting to be found.

Yuri was crazy about _Allegro Appasionato_ , he loved it more than any other thing he ever tried on the ice.

It wasn't demanding like Agapé, didn't need him to showcase the love he could never have just stored somewhere, to use whenever necessary, it didn't suck his soul right out of him with every performance, didn't need a piece of him to take each time and never return.

It just, in the most perfect way possible, only required an unlimited amount of anger, elegance, and solid determination.

Yuri loved Lilia for gifting him with that program.

He loved her for understanding him, understanding the one thing Yuri used as fuel whenever he skated.

And it wasn't love.

It was anger, it was spite, it was _hatred._

So of course Yuri was in top form, all the elements of his routine were right there, present and waiting to be used, urging him to take as much as he wanted.

His scores more than just made up for his Short Program, and Yuri was waiting, waiting for the chance to show the world what he could do next, what he could break to pieces with sheer will alone.

Lilia was smiling, Yakov left the Kiss and Cry, and Yuri was brought back to reality.

 _Good,_ he thought, smiling too as he watched Yakov talk with Katsuki on the other side of the barrier, Victor, fortunately, nowhere in sight. _It's time for you to feel what I felt._

The voices were happy, they were about to be sated, to finally be satisfied with seeing Katsuki fail.

But as much as Katsuki wasn't into it, Yuri found that he wasn't, either.

He ignored the happiness, he ignored the satisfaction, and he ignored the pride as he watched Yuuri look down on the ice like it wasn't the thing they shared love with.

 _What are you doing?_ Yuri found himself thinking, despite himself. _Why do you look like that?!_

A lot of people didn't understand Yuri, not that he did himself, but at that moment, he thought that he was mentally insane.

Because for once in his life, as he watched Katsuki skate like that, Yuri wished Victor was there.

He never wanted to see Yuuri in pain ever again.

Ever.

* * *

 **Later that night, Yuri was scared.**

"Yuratchka," his grandpa seemed worried when he watched Yuri not digging into his pirozhki yet. "What's with that face? You did great today, you should be more happy."

"I didn't," he looked down at the bag on his lap; his grandpa had baked them as a gift for his silver medal, and just thinking about all the work he put into creating these particular pirozhkis, made Yuri almost want to cry. "JJ beat me again."

"A silver medal is a great achievement, you shouldn't be this modest." He said cheerfully, but it didn't help. "Yuratchka, what is it?"

"Nothing," he focused on the sidewalk outside the car window, feeling as empty as the condensation droplets sliding down in front of him. "It's just... Katsudon-"

"I made them as the recipe said," his grandpa said defensibly, "And since when do you doubt my cooking?"

"No, no," he shook his head, "I mean _Yuuri,_ " it felt strange, saying his name like that, without the protection of profanities and nicknames. "He was-"

"I made a lot, Yuratchka," the older man smiled knowingly, "Go find him and give him some, it will cheer him up."

"I don't think pirozhkis will cheer him up, honestly."

"Pirozhkis fix everything," his grandpa said loudly, "Go, Yuri, your friend needs you."

He didn't, Yuri knew he didn't, he needed Victor, only Victor.

And he wasn't Victor, he will never be, he was just that fifteen year old confused kid that hated him, that gave him trouble and inconvenience at every encounter, who wouldn't even hug him when he desperately chased behind him earlier that day.

Because that fifteen year old kid was scared, that fifteen year old kid let himself be guided by voices of denial and lies since they were the only thing that made sense.

Yuuri didn't need him, he wasn't Victor, and most certainly, he wasn't his friend, he wouldn't let himself believe he is.

Yet, Yuri still apologized to his grandpa, Yuri still gripped the bag of Katsudon Pirozhkis tight, he still opened the car door and started running to find him.

And later that night, when Yuuri would smile brightly, blindingly, in the darkness of the night, mouth full of his grandpa's masterpiece, _'Vkusno!'_ escaping his mouth in a terrible accent, Yuri's heart would almost burst in his chest.

And when the man would ask him how he remembered his birthday, since even Victor forgot, Yuri would stay silent, because whatever lie he told would make that moment less warm.

And only wearing a jacket and a thin hoodie, no scarf or gloves in sight, under the snowing sky and the harsh, cold as ice wind, Yuri would never feel more warm.

* * *

What are you doing?

You hate him.

Why are you doing this?

After everything he had done to you?

What are you doing?

What are you-

 _Shut up,_ Yuri snaps, hating himself, _Just shut the fuck up!_


End file.
